Then Sir Thomas returned to his guests, apologizing to them for his son’s absence, by saying he had advised him to ride over to Greystone at once to inquire how Mrs. Methvyn and her daughter had borne the shock.
“So sad,” murmured the ladies, “so very sad for poor Miss Methvyn. It was just after she reached home last night—Was it not?”
“Before, corrected Sir Thomas; “it must have been all over before she got home.”
“Poor girl, what a fearful shock! And she was so attached to her father. Dear me, it is really very sad.”
Then they all talked it over again with Lady Frederica for another quarter of an hour, after which they dispersed to give directions to their various maids for the unexpectedly hastened packing.
“And I must see about mourning at once, I suppose, Miss Winter,” said Lady Frederica with a sigh. “Such a pity, isn’t it, with all my new autumn things? And I think you had better countermand the dress I told Madame Fanchon to lay aside for me for the wedding. It will probably be delayed for some months, and when it does take place, it is sure to be very quiet.”
Late in the afternoon, when all the visitors had gone, Mr. Fawcett returned home. He looked tired and dusty; he had ridden a long way, with no object but to use up the day and to get rid of his uneasy thoughts. His father and mother saw nothing of him till he came into the drawing-room dressed for dinner.
“Trevor!” exclaimed Lady Frederica.
“I did not know you had come back,” said Sir Thomas. “I thought you would probably be there till late.”
“I came in ever so long ago,” said Trevor shortly.